Bohemia
by Kuriyami
Summary: [RENT] One of those how did they all meet kind of things. Summaries are never my speciality. Hopefully going to last a while.
1. Act I, Scene I

Okay, so I decided to make a fic about everyone coming together. Who-meets-who, that kind of stuff. I know people have done this time and time again, but I'd thought I'd give it a shot. Still unsure whether it's going to span all the way to the beginning of RENT. Who knows? Now, thisoperates on the belief that none of themknew each other in high school oranything, okay? Just so we know.

First chapter is Mark and Benny.Enjoy, chickies!

Disclaimer: Jonathan Larson blah blah totally owns all of RENT blah blah blah.

EDIT: Thank you, guys! I forgot to change this version when I put it up. No, Brown is in Rhode Island, not New York. Someone corrected me before, but I forgot to change the hard copy. Thank you!

* * *

College. 

Mark Cohen looked at the door to his dorm room. It had been a long time coming; Mark had worked hard to get into Brown. Wait, no. His _mother_ had worked hard to get him into Brown. She was the one who pushed for college, for a full education. Really, all Mark wanted to do was film. He didn't really mind not going to college. He was fine not going at all. When he explained this to his mother, he was surprised she didn't die on the spot.

"_Marky!_" she screamed, and Mark drew back, thinking she just might blow up or something by the look on her face. "You _must_ go to college! There's no question about it, young man. You _are_ going to college." And so, he went to college. Mark went to Rhode Island, chose Brown. With his grades, he could pick and choose any college or university he wanted.It seemed like the perfect place to go.

What Mark forgot was that Providence was afairly bigcity. Scarsdale was a tiny Jewish community, really. He had practically no real social skills. Well, no social skills to use in most situations, anyway. He was an awkward boy in a big city. And Mark was sure it showed. And now...his dorm room. Someone was in there. He could faintly hear music coming from inside. His new roommate. His first roommate ever, actually. The only question was he, Mark, awkward Jewish boy, going to get along with whoever was in that room?

Only one way to find out.

Mark opened the door to soft R&B playing on a small radio. His roommate was lying on his bed, quietly singing along. He looked to Mark, and grinned. "You must be my roomie, huh?" His voice was smooth, calm. A grin played on his face.

Mark smiled clumsily. "Yeah, I am. Mark Cohen."

"Benjamin Coffin the Third," the other guy replied, and laughed at the expression on Mark's face. "Yes, it is long. My friends just call me Benny." Mark smiled again. God, what was wrong? The smile was just messing up on his lips. Benny laughed at his new friend's expression. "Something wrong with your face? I mean that in the best possible way," he added as Mark went to sit on the bed.

"Eh, I'm nervous," the flim-maker-to-be admitted, sighing deeply. "You know, like...first-day jitters."

"I know how that feels," Benny replied, sitting up. "You like it here at Brown?"

Mark thought about it for a few seconds. "Yeah, it's okay," he said in a somewhat bored voice, making a slight face. Benny laughed, and Mark was suddenly hit with a wave of embarrassment. He basically just said, 'Eh, Brown's okay, but I don't really give a fuck.' He didn't mean to say it, but the sentence just kind of...came out. Sure, it was honest, but it wasn't good to say bad things about your college to your roommate, who looked like he'd been here a year or two before. "Well, I mean—"

"Nah, don't bother fixing the sentence," Benny said, laughing still. "I think you just summed up the basic idea of every college student here."

"I'm sure lots of people are excited to be here," Mark added, shrugging.

"Why aren't you excited to be here?" Benny asked, leaning forward. Mark blushed. No one had really paid that much attention to him before. His father was distant, his sister wasn't the kindest soul, and his mother only cared about his grades and his health. "I mean, you're a freshman, right?" Mark nodded. "Well, most freshman are giggles and glee when they come to college. I know I was when I was a freshman. So what's up?"

"To tell you the truth," Mark said, "I didn't really want to go to college. My parents wanted me to." Heh. The first honest thing Mark's said in years he says to a stranger. It almost makes you want to laugh.

Benny grinned. "Ah, parents, huh? Seems we come from different sides of the spectrum, then."

"Huh?" Mark didn't understand.

"My mother worked hard to get me in here," Benny said, the conversational tone still in his voice. "I don't come from the best background," he explained, shrugging lightly.

Mark felt like giving himself a kick in the ass. Great going, Cohen. "I'm sorry," he apologized, his face red from embarrassment.

"Don't be," Benny said, waving his hand. "It's just what life dealt me, you know? It just so happened I had a shitty childhood. Don't be embarrassed for something you can't control, Mark." He gave him a grin, and Mark smiled back, a little more natural, less awkward. Benny made him comfortable, and he was glad for it. "So why did your parents make you come to Brown?"

"Oh, I picked Brown to get far away from home," Mark explained. "I needed to escape my mother."

Benny laughed. "What's she like?"

"Your typical Jewish mother," Mark sighed, leaning back, "which means she wants to dominate every aspect of my life. My father didn't really care what the hell I did, as long as I got out of the house, and my sister is too preoccupied with her high school drama to give a shit about what I do." As soon as this rant left his mouth, Mark flushed. Jesus, Cohen, just give him your life story while your at it! "Sorry," he muttered. "I'm not usually this...er, open about my personal life."

"It's nice, you know," Benny said, his head propped up on his palm, resting his elbow on his knee. "To hear someone speak. Usually I feel like I'm the one doing all the talking. And, hell, we're bound to learn about each other anyway, being roommates."

"I haven't really been myself in a long time," Mark mused aloud, then laughed. "I don't think that made much sense."

"It made perfect sense," Benny said, grinning. "You can't be yourself around your family. So who can you be yourself around?"

Mark found Benny's grin to be almost infectious, beaming. "Exactly. My mother's so overbearing. I felt like a robot in my own house."

"Only there to make the grades, right?" Benny asked, and Mark nodded. "Yeah, same way. I love my mother, don't get me wrong, but it was hard making the grades to get in here. My dad passed away when I was ten," Benny explained, and Mark's eyes grew wide.

"That must have been tough."

"Not as tough as fucking calculus," Benny said, rolling his eyes. "My dad was a mean drunk, so it was almost a kind of relief when he passed away. Not that I could tell my mom that or anything, because she cried whenever his name was mentioned." Benny sighed, like a huge weight had been lifted off of him, and leaned back. "Besides, I'm ready to let loose. I'm tired of being weighed down. I want to have some fucking freedom!"

"You said it," Mark replied, leaning forward. "I mean, isn't that what we all want? Freedom from the things that tie us down?" He looked to his shoes, lost for a second in his own thoughts. Benny looked at Mark for a second, almost bewildered. If Mark hadn't been staring down at his sneakers, he might have been embarrassed at Benny's stare, amazed at the sudden insight his new roommate seemed to possess.

"What are you here for, anyway?" Benny asked, and Mark looked up. "What's your major?"

Mark glanced down at his shoes again. "Something with film. I want to be a film maker, a director. Something I can enjoy." A sheepish smile formed on his face. "I'm only really happy when I can capture what's around me...my parents never understood. Never will understand, really." Benny noticed the look of pure sorrow on Mark's face as he voiced this fact; Benny was more aware of people's emotions than he liked to admit. "They want me to become a doctor...or a lawyer. Something that pays good. But I don't really want that kind of money. Hell, as long as I can get by, I'm fine."

"And here's where we part," Benny said, a half-smile on his face. Mark looked up, a little taken aback. What did he mean? "See, I grew up with nothing. When I get out of here, I want to be rich. I want to be able to support myself and my mother. And maybe a wife, if I have one," Benny added as a second thought. "I mean, I don't have to be filthy rich," he said, laughing, "but it'd be nice, you know?"

"Yeah, I know," Mark said, smiling. "It would nice to have lots of money," he replied, "but if I'm going to spend my whole life doing something, I want to enjoy it. Being a doctor isn't on my top ten list of things to enjoy." Benny laughed. "What do you want to do?"

Benny shrugged. "Don't know, really. Was thinking about producing music." He grinned, motioning to the small radio on his bed. "I really like music, but I can't really sing. But I wanted to do something with it." Another shrug. "I'm majoring in business, so we'll see how that goes."

Mark decided to say, "I'm sure you'll do fine." Usually, he resisted saying those kinds of things. It created false hope, and if they didn't do fine...well, those words would come back to haunt you, wouldn't they? But, unknown to the young boy, he would one day be the one known for his unfailing optimism. If someone said that to Mark right now, he wouldn't believe them. Amazing how much people change from what they were to what they are. "I mean, you're passionate about it, and you want to succeed, so I'm sure it'll work."

"Thanks," Benny said, making Mark feel glad about saying what he did. Benny grinned. "But you know, one thing I'm never gonna do is sell out."

"Sell out?" Mark said, cocking his head slightly. Benny laughed.

"It basically means to work for someone else instead of yourself. To sell your soul to big corporations," he added, and the bespectacled boy nodded. "See, I may want money, but I'm not going to lose myself doing it," he said, and for a moment Mark could see that Benny was talking more to himself than his roomie. Benny looked up to Mark, and their eyes locked. "If I don't teach you anything else while you're my roommate, Mark, remember that," Benny said, his face serious and his voice somewhat still joking. "Never sell out. You lose your art that way, man."

"Never sell out," Mark repeated, and smiled. "Got it." Mark would later look back on the irony of it all, how he learned this from the one who would eventually get his dream to earn money but lose who he was by doing it. But for now, the two sat there, smiling and grinning and enjoying each other's company.

"Ah, this room's boring, isn't it?" Benny remarked, glancing around them. "C'mon," he said, pushing off the mattress and standing up. "Leave your stuff. I'll show you the campus."

"B-but I've already seen the campus," Mark said, standing up anyway.

The grin slipped back onto Benny's face. "Yeah. But you haven't seen the real campus. You got the pussy tour. You haven't seen the nitty gritty of Brown, and I will take the honor of showing you just that, Mark Cohen," he said, opening the door. "So, let's get on with the real tour. Hello, my name is Benjamin Coffin the Third, and I will be your tour guide this afternoon..." Benny said as he shut the door, Mark laughing, finally loosening up.

This was the beginning of something that would change their lives forever. This was the beginning of a whirlwind that would drastically change them both, even though they had no clue of it yet.

_innocence et ambition._

_Time to rock and roll._

* * *

Reviews are addictive, my muffins. 


	2. Act I, Scene II

Roger meets Collins this time around. This is all basically in the same time period, maybe a few months after Benny and Mark meet. I'm still a little unsure about the time frame, but it's not terribly important. By far, this is my favorite chapter.(Of course, I'm writing Roger and Collins over here, so it's bound to be good.)Dedicated to GayApparel and her Rogerness!

Disclaimer: I may own the sleazy bartender. Everything else is Jonathan Larson's.

* * *

The lights dimmed down in a small club in New Jersey. Dim candlelight.

Roger Davis clicked his guitar case shut. His bandmates went on ahead without him, probably in the process of getting totally drunk off their asses right now. They liked to do that after a gig, usually forgetting the tremendous hangover they would have the next morning. Usually Roger went with, but this time he stayed behind. He didn't feel like getting totally drunk off his ass at the moment (which could be labeled unusual or not); he liked the club's soft atmosphere, that gentle silence that set one at ease. It was amazing that a place like this could rock just as hard as his band's music. The owners had asked him if they could do at least two more gigs after this, and Roger jumped at the chance. They could take anything they could get right now, and two solid performances was extremely lucky.

Placing the guitar case beside the stool, Roger sat down at the bar. The bartender walked up to him, a middle-aged man with gray-speckled hair. He seemed a little worn out; the bar was still somewhat crowded with people, a big group on the other side of the circular bar. "What can I get you?" he asked, his voice a little gravely but still had a pleasant sound to it.

"Something with alcohol in it," Roger said, and a half-smile played on his face. Ah, why the hell not? He was in the mood for a drink. Something relaxing. Roger had been playing and partying non-stop lately. He needed a breather from that life.

"Alright," the barman said, grinning slightly. A girl yelled out something slurred, and he sighed. "It might take a few minutes." Roger nodded. He was in no rush, which was something unusual to him. Roger Davis, skipping out on a wild party to drink by himself at a bar? What the fuck was that about, huh? The musician sighed, looking around the place. It was nice; it wasn't the place Roger would usually go for some fun, but this wasn't bad...not bad at al—

"He'll probably slip you water, you know," Roger heard a deep voice say. He glanced down the bar, and a few seats over was a guy with a large overcoat and a knitted white cap. The white stood out especially, since the rest of him was dark, practically blending in with the surroundings. The guy smiled, lifting his drink a little. "The barkeep likes to pull that kind of shit."

Roger looked at him. "I know the difference between water and alcohol," he said, his voice having an almost childish pout to it.

"Oh, he puts in just enough vodka to taste like it," the stranger said, gently moving his own drink so the ice clinked against the glass. "And then he'll make you pay for it. I used to fall for it when I first came here." Roger opened his mouth to respond, and it was at this moment that the bartender decided to come with Roger's drink.

The rocker gazed at the beverage. Ice and a clear liquid. Roger pushed the glass slightly away from him. "Vodka's not my thing."

"You said something alcoholic, didn't you?" the man behind the bar said, giving Roger a strange look.

"Give me something on tap," Roger persisted, again pushing the glass slightly towards the other man, a cocky grin on his face. Sure, he didn't _mind_ vodka, but he wasn't going to get cheated out of good beer money, that was for sure. The bartender gave him a hard glare, then roughly grabbed the glass as the group on the other side started to holler and whoop.

"Good call," the stranger in the overcoat said, smiling. Roger returned the smile.

"Goddamn if you weren't right," he replied, shaking his head. "What's your name?" Roger wasn't one to make friends easily. He didn't like too many connections, too many loose ends hanging about to tangle him up. But this guy was different. There was something profoundly interesting about this man; he felt drawn to him.

The guy's grin grew wider. "Tom Collins."

"Mind if I just call you Collins?" Roger said, beaming back. His drummer was named Tom...and was a stupid ass. Plus, Collins just seemed to fit this guy better than the name Tom ever would.

"Not at all," Collins responded, and got up, taking the empty chair to the right of the blond. "Mind if I sit next to you so we can have an actual conversation instead of talking loudly over that?" he asked, motioning to the loud, rowdy crowd on the other side.

Roger laughed, "Not at all." He held out his hand. "Name's Roger Davis."

"Heard you play tonight," Collins said, taking Roger's hand and giving it a good shake. "Pretty damn good for a rock band."

Roger grinned. "Ya think?" He picked up the beer the bartender had quickly placed beside him before trying to control the other bunch yet again. He raised an eyebrow. "We're okay." He took a swig of his beer, leaving a foam mustache on his upper lip.

"'We're okay'," Collins repeated, leaning on the bar and giving Roger a disbelieving look. "You say that like your band sucks. Elaborate on that, if you will, Roger Davis."

"Well, it's just my bandmates," Roger said, his jaw clenching just a tad. "They're not that good."

"Why do you stay with them then?"

"I can't do it alone," the blond said, giving Collins a quick look. "I just...can't. I need someone there to back me up."

Collins gave him a sympathetic smile. "Don't feel pathetic that you need people around you. No man's an island, you know." Roger smiled into the reflection of the amber liquid.

"Yeah, that's true, isn't it?" A comfortable silence then fell between them, something Roger was relieved to discover. It had been a long time since he had that with anybody, that ability to sit with someone and not have to talk, not have to fill the space between them with empty words. He wiped his lip, and smiled at Collins. "So what do you do, Collins?"

"I'm currently a professor at NYU," Collins said conversationally, and smiled sadly into his glass. "It's all right. Pays the bills." Collins couldn't help but grin. That's one thing that drew Collins to Roger, that smile of his. Yes, Roger was extremely attractive, but Collins didn't see him like _that_. But that smile...there was something in that smile that made you want to do the same. And at the same time it was infectious...there was something sad underneath it...something dark and undiscovered, something...hidden. It was enchanting. And later Collins would attribute this bewitching grin of Roger's to his ability to get women to fall for him so hard. "Doing anything other than playing?"

"Nah," Roger replied, shrugging. "Tried college. Didn't work. A regular job's too boring for me. And I'm cocky enough to say I think I have some musical talent in me, so that's why I decided to create a band." Roger was always one to speak his mind. Always.

Collins cocked his head slightly to the side. "What's it called?"

"You know, I'm not sure," Roger mused. "Actually, I don't want to name this band. One of the others can name it. I'll create another band, a better one." He smiled wistfully into the bottom of his glass. "A much better one."

"I'm sure it'll kick ass," Collins remarked, smiling. Roger looked at him, a little surprised, a little sad, and a little excited all at the same time.

"You know, I think you're the first one to ever encourage me and mean it." He pushed his empty glass aside. "Even my girlfriends didn't egg me on. All they really wanted was sex." A short pause. "Not like they could resist a hot bod like mine, but..."

Collins couldn't help but laugh. "You're a trip, Roger," he chuckled, and Roger just smiled and shrugged.

"Girlfriends? I pegged you as a straight guy."

"Eh, I guess I could swing either way," Roger replied. Amazing how he was saying shit like this around someone he just met. But Roger just felt so comfortable...maybe it was the way Collins was so laid-back. He admired that. "I mean, sure, I've messed around with some guys before, but I really like the girls." Roger's grin curled mischievously on his lips. "What about you, Collins? Are you a babe magnet like me?"

Collins could tell Roger was starting to get used to him. The boy was a little nervous at first, being as polite as possible and seemed to have some genuine interest in getting to know the philosopher. But now he was showing his true colours, making smart quips left and right. "I'm afraid my door swings the other way completely," Collins remarked, smiling a little bit uncomfortably. "It's true, I'm queer. Gay. Homosexual. However you prefer to put it."

"That's cool," Roger said, nodding his head slightly. "I mean, whatever floats your boat, right?" Collins let out relieved laughter and Roger joined in. "Think I'm sexy?" Roger added, giving him a suave look, raising his eyebrow suggestively.

Collins laughed again. "Yeah, why not? But I don't think you have to worry about me hitting on you, Roger," he said, and Roger put on a pout.

"Oh, I see. Hating on the white guy, huh?" Before Collins responded, Roger continued. "No, no, I get it! Go ahead! But vanilla is the best flavor of all, bitch." The professor couldn't help but laugh uncontrollably at this, and inwardly Roger exhaled with relief. He was afraid Collins would take offence, but Roger couldn't help but let his mouth get away from him.

"Vanilla's the best flavor of all, huh?" Collins chuckled, wiping tears from his eyes.

"Well, no. I lie. Strawberry's the best flavor of all. Vanilla's a very close second."

Collins wrapped his arm around Roger's shoulder. "You know, Roger, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship."

Roger beamed, and put his arm around Collins's shoulder as well. "Collins, I believe you're right."

"You know, I kinda like that," Collins remarked. "Collins. I think I want everybody to call me that now."

"Fuck yeah!" Roger added. "It's better than fucking Tom!"

The philosopher laughed, standing from the stool. He took out his wallet, and dropped a few bills on the counter. "It is better than Tom. Has more personality." Roger would look back on this whenever somebody new met Collins, and a little voice would murmur proudly in the back of his head, _"That was me. I created that nickname."_ "Aren't you going to pay for your drink, Roger?"

"Ah, I'll catch it next time," he replied, waving his hand at the bar. "I mean, I'm coming back again." Roger glanced around. "Alright, Collins. Time for a quick getaway. Luckily, the band went to the place across the street, so I don't have too far to walk in this freezing hell." An idea popped into Collins's head.

"Actually, Roger, I was just thinking...I have an apartment that I need help paying rent for..."

_flamboyance et savoir._

_Time to sell your soul._

_

* * *

_Thank you all for reviewing, even if the first chapter wasn't as good.


	3. Act I, Scene III

The third chapter of _Bohemia - _Angel and Mimi! Dedicated to pissiMissi, who is the Mimi to my Angel!

Just so you guys know- I'm going to skip around. This about EVERYBODY meeting(yeah, I'm really laying it on myself, aren't I?), so it's going to be crazy. So just bear with me. I promise you that sooner or later the groups will start forming, but I have to get everyone before I start those kind of things. I hope you still love me! Much love, chickies!

* * *

Mimi Marquez sat on the subway, sandwiched between a guy in a business suit and someone with headphones. She could see the business guy on her left looking at her, his eyes traveling her body up and down. She couldn't wait to give him a good smack, show him that ogling underage girls wouldn't be put up with. She was tired of this shit, men looking her up and down like she was a piece of meat. If you had told her that in a few months she'd be making a living off of it, she would have scoffed and told you to fuck off. But Mimi, more than anything, was ready for the world. She was ready to make her own living, away from her parents. Away from her overprotective mother, her suffocating father. Mama, Papa, I love you, but it's time for this girl to go.

The guy kept trying to undress her with his eyes. She was about to smack him when something caught her eye. It caught everyone's eye.

A skinhead had pushed a girl roughly, almost making her fall. Instead, she saved herself by grabbing hold of a pole in the subway car. She brushed her short, black hair out of her eyes and glared at the man. "May I asked what that was for?" A light voice. Musical, almost. It had a pleasant sound to Mimi's eyes.

The guy just gave her a dirty look. "I don't like you people."

"You people?" the girl said, an unbelievable tone to her voice. It was then that the man snatched her hair from her head. Mimi's eyes widened. A transvestite? Damn, he was good.

"You people, dressing like this!" he yelled, about to throw the wig on the floor, but she snatched it back, and placed it on her head.

"Why do you care what I dress like?" she said, fixing the wig in place. "At least I'm not hating on your lack of style, honey." The skinhead looked as if he was going to hit her, and Mimi tensed.

"I hate you gays." For a second, she looked a little hurt, but the look quickly disappeared to one of amusement.

"Honey, I'm more of a man than you'll ever be, and more of a woman than you'll ever get." Silence fell in the car. Mimi looked around, and then, making her voice a little lower, "Damn, boy, she just whored you."

The whole car burst into laughter. The cross dresser smiled, and put her hands on her hips. She knew she had won. The skinhead looked as if he might say something, maybe even throw a punch, but as the subway car came to a halt, he left quickly. Mimi looked to the guy next to her. Still looking! She gave him a quick smack on the cheek. "Stop eyeing me, you perv." He looked at her, blushing and ashamed. She got up, and gently tapped the drag queen's shoulder. "That was great," she said, beaming.

The other let out a small sigh and laughed. "For a second there, I thought I was going to have to teach him a thing or two," she replied, and they both giggled.

"You would win," Mimi said, smiling.

"Oh, there's no question about that, honey," she said, winking. "It's just a question of which stop to throw him out at."

Mimi grinned. "I'm Mimi," she said, holding out her hand. Mimi knew that this wouldn't be a mistake. She hadn't really made friends with anybody in New York yet...and this black-haired, pretty tranny seemed like just the person to befriend in this big city.

"I'm Angel," she replied, smiling and taking Mimi's hand, shaking it lightly. "What brings you here, Mimi-chica?" she asked, and instantly Mimi loved the pet name Angel would use for her time and time again. "You look like too sweet a girl to be living here too long."

"I just moved here," Mimi said, and a little reluctantly added, "I ran away from home." She was afraid Angel might look down on her for that (for some odd reason), but just the opposite occurred; Angel's face brightened.

"Really? I am too!" Angel said, bouncing a little. "My dad kicked me out."

"Me too!" Mimi said, and laughed. "I never thought I'd bond with somebody over being kicked out of my house!" Their laughter rang in the car, and soon it came to a stop. People came in, people rushed out. Angel and Mimi sat down in two now-empty seats. "Where are you heading?"

"Wanna know the truth?" Mimi nodded. Angel leaned in. "I really don't know," she said, smiling widely. "I guess I'm getting off wherever I feel like it. What about you?"

"I don't either," Mimi answered. "I mean, I just got here. It's...it's awkward."

"Don't worry, sweetie!" Angel said, bringing Mimi into a tight embrace. "I'll take care of you!" Mimi felt like crying. It had been a long time since someone showed so much affection to her, showered her with love so openly and gladly. Mimi would love Angel for this, her ability to openly love almost everyone she met. She would be almost jealous of how well she fit in with their little bohemian group later, how everyone just loved her. _I loved her first_, she would think to herself when she was feeling down. _I loved her first._

Mimi returned the hug. "Thanks, Angel."

"No problem, honey. You've been the first friend I've found in this city for a long time, you know?" She beamed at the young Latina. "To be honest, you remind me of me when I was young. Well...if I had been a girl." They giggled.

"How old are you, Angel?"

"Oh, only about seventeen or so. But I'm talking like I'm older already, aren't I?" Another playful wink. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen."

"My Mimi-chica's only fifteen?" Angel repeated, cocking her head slightly. Mimi blushed, a little embarrassed at her age. "Oh, sweetie! You should come live with me!"

"Huh?" Although she adored Angel already, Mimi thought this was a little fast. "Live with you?"

"Well...yeah," Angel said, smiling. "Do you have any other place to go?" she asked, biting her lip.

Mimi shook her head. "No, no, I don't have any other place to go."

"Then why don't you come stay with me? It's not much, honey, but it's filled with love," she added, holding Mimi's hand lightly. "You could live with me until you find a job, a place of your own. What do you say?"

"Why not?" Hell, she didn't have many options anyway. Plus, Angel was nice, and certainly knew her way around this city better than she did. "I would love to live with you, Angel." A sparkling smile, and Angel's eyes started to tear up. "What is it?"

"Just that...it's been a long time since someone's come to live with me," she said, smiling. "And it's been a long time since I've made a good friend."

"But...we've only just met, Angel!" Mimi said, laughing. She looked to the drag queen, and her smile disappeared a little. The look on her face was so intense, so true.

"Yes, we've only met. But I know we're going to be friends a long time, Mimi-chica." It was in her eyes. "I just know it." And Mimi believed her.

For both of them, real friends had been scarce. Whenever her friends learned that she was gay or liked to dress in girl's clothes, they would usually abandon Angel, call her evil names that she had never heard before. When Mimi would tell her friends secrets, they would go around telling the whole school and everyone would laugh at her, call her evil names she had never heard before.

They were so alike, but so different. They would both change each other, and they would become new people. They would never be the same. And they dove headfirst into this opportunity, to leave what they were and convert into something so different, so special. It was going to be hard for them. Mimi's drug addiction. Angel's boyfriends. Money, withdrawal, jobs. But all of this would come later.

"We are going to be good friends," Mimi repeated, squeezing Angel's hand lightly. "We'll be the best friends we never had."

"Exactly, honey," Angel replied, smiling from ear to ear. "These are the best years of our lives. We should spend them with someone wonderful, shouldn't we?" Oh, wasn't she right? Angel would always say the right things. She was an expert in the art of speech.

"What do you do anyway, Angel?" Mimi asked, truly interested in her new-found companion.

"Well, right now I'm drumming on the streets," she said, and poked Mimi's cheeks lightly when she frowned. "Oh, don't worry about me, sweetie! I do odd jobs here and there, and sometimes I get a drumming job here or there. I'm happy with my life, and that's all that matters. What do you want to do with your life, chica?"

Mimi blushed. "Oh, I don't know. Never thought about it, really."

"What are you good at?"

"...Dancing." Angel grinned.

"There are plenty of jobs for good dancers around here! Of course, not all of them are the kinds of jobs you'd tell mom and dad about..." she added, biting her lip slightly.

Mimi shook her head. "So? I ran away to get away from them. What should it matter now what they think?" She gave Angel a smooth smile, something that the men would give her money for later in life, something that would make them wish she'd look their way every night, something that would make her big in small clubs later on. "Bring it on, baby. I'm ready."

"Shall we go get something to eat?" Angel said, grinning. "I might have pickpocketed that skinhead who tried to beat me down just a few moments ago." She held up a wallet in triumph.

Mimi laughed. "You stole his wallet?"

"My sister taught me how," Angel replied. "Besides, he was acting like an asshole anyway. I only do it sometimes," she added, winking. "So how about it? Hungry?"

"Angel, we're going to make beautiful music together," Mimi said as the car stopped and the pair rose from their seats.

"We already are, Mimi-chica," she answered as the walked out of the subway car door and into the station, up the stairs and into the bright afternoon sunlight.

_affectueux_ _et domestique_

_Time to say goodbye.

* * *

_Next chapter will have Maureen for sure in it. Question is, who's she gonna meet?


	4. Act I, Scene IV

I put this off for a while because I really didn't want to type Maureen. Maureen escapes me...but once I started writing, she started to appear, slowly but surely. I was going to have her meet April, but my plans changed. I have different plans for April, and I went back to my original plan of having her meeting Muffy. (To be honest, Roger and Muffy were going to meet first, and Collins and Maureen were going to meet. But I liked the idea of Roger and Collins becoming friends first, and so Maureen and Muffy got put together.) The idea of Maureen and Alison meeting was rather far-fetched to me, but as their conversation starting flowing and background story started to emerge, it actually turned out to be a pretty good couple. I was extremely pleased with the way this chapter turned out, and I hope you guys like it too.

Yes, yes, disclaimer, I don't own this, we got it.

* * *

Maureen Johnson just couldn't get enough of the clubs. She was a party girl, and proud of it. She had always been a flirt, and what better place to flirt than the clubs lined up in New York? She knew the ones on the street, the secret ones, she knew them all. Everyone thought Maureen went there for the sex.

Really, she went to dance. She never told anyone nowadays, but she always wanted to become a ballet dancer. In her room, she had a beautiful pair of light pink ballet slippers her grandmother used to wear. Maureen loved her grandmother, thought she was the most wonderful person in the world. She would often tell Maureen stories about dancing on the stage, how marvelous it was. Her grandmother gave her the ballet slippers, and told Maureen that she was destined for the stage.

Maureen cried so hard when her grandmother died. When one of her best friends would die many years later, she would compare it to the sorrow she felt when her grandmother passed away.

Maureen held tightly onto the dream of becoming a dancer, the urge to be a star just like her grandmomma strong in her heart. She told her mother, and she refused to pay for the lessons. Too expensive, and Maureen probably would get tired of doing ballet and focus on something else the next week. So flippant about her biggest dream. That's when she began to rebel. Staying out late with boys, going places and never telling her mother, getting drunk and maybe doing a little pot while she was at it.

And sometimes, when she wasn't rebelling in the natural teenage ways...she'd go to the local dance studio and ask for a few lessons. They were nice once she explained her situation. She knew she would never be able to professionally dance like this, but she didn't mind taking a few lessons.

Maureen never forgot about her childhood dream. Never. She still kept the slippers under her bed in a shoe box. That's why she came to the clubs, to dance, to be in the center of everyone's attention. Sure, she wasn't on the stage, but damn if she couldn't imagine it. Dancing with all the boys, dancing with all the girls, Maureen was labeled a flirt, and often a slut. She was hurt about this, because even though she was extremely sexual, she was selective of who she decided to go to bed with. But let them say what they wanted. Maureen didn't care.

She had plenty of boyfriends in the past. Why not? Why not have a little fun? She learned that a little fun in life was needed, especially when everything was so disappointing.

Maureen laughed, and tapped the boy she was dancing with on the shoulder. "I'll be right back, baby. I need a drink!" she shouted over the loud music, and left the floor, the boy looking after her with a longing look, knowing she probably wouldn't come back. "Sex on the Beach, barman," she said to the bartender with a wink, and then stopped to catch her breath. This wasn't the stage, but it was exciting all the same.

"Nice moves," she heard a sweet voice next to her croon. Maureen looked over, and smiled.

"Thanks. I work hard on them." And she did. Every time she was at the club, she added something new, something fresh. Variety _was_ the spice of life, after all.

"Ever do ballet?" Maureen blinked.

"...How did you know?"

The girl smiled. "I took ballet when I was little. Parents made me. Said little girls had to learn to be graceful. Noticed you used some ballet moves while you were dancing." The bartender handed Maureen her drink, but suddenly she wasn't interested.

"I would have killed to take ballet class when I was a kid. My...uh, my grandmother was famous back in her day, in London." It had been so long since she has met someone who knew what they were talking about.

"Really? Ballet was okay, but jazz was better," the girl laughed, and shook her head. "I was too full of energy to really care about dance way back when. Always did wish I paid more attention." She sipped some of her drink, and smiled wistfully.

"I'm Maureen Johnson," she said, holding her hand out to the stranger. She surprised herself; usually, Maureen didn't give her last name out so willingly. Maybe it was because of this sudden feeling of being so close to this unknown female, the bond of dance between them.

The blond beamed, taking her hand and gently shaking it. "Alison. Alison Grey."

Maureen blinked. "You're not connected to the Westport Greys, are you?"

Alison hushed her. "Shh! Maybe," she said, a bit uncomfortably.

"Wow!" Maureen said. "Heard about them on the news! Your grandpop's a big man, isn't he?" Maureen put her drink down for a moment to put her arms in a circle around her belly, puffing out her cheeks.

"He really is!" Alison laughed, almost relieved. "We call him Humpty Dumpty behind his back."

Maureen laughed, a big, honest laugh. It felt good; she hadn't done that in a while. "What brings you here, A?" 'Alison' just didn't roll off her tongue too nicely. She shorted it to just the first letter, and Alison didn't seem to mind.

"Well, I had to get away." She leaned against the bar, sipping her drink. "My family is so rich, it's suffocating." She didn't say this with pride, as if boasting, but with a sigh.

"Well, if I was rich, I'd be happy!" Maureen replied, sitting on a stool. "I mean, I come from Hicksville." She rolled her eyes. "It's not exactly the richest of the rich over there."

"Well, it's just that they try and make me do things I don't want to do!" Alison said, looking to Maureen, blue-gray eyes flashing. "They think because I come from that bloodline I shouldn't be able to do normal stuff, like go clubbing." Alison took a big swig of her glass, and raised her eyebrow. "Well, fuck them. They don't know a fucking thing about living."

"What makes you say that?" Maureen asked. Alison was just getting more interesting by the minute to her. She forgot about the boy she was supposed to be dancing with, all attention focused intently on her new acquaintance.

"All they do is sit around and count their money," Alison continued, not hiding the disgust in her voice. "I hate it. They want to eat caviar and sulk around all day, complaining about the problems in the world and not doing a thing about it. They make me wanna irk," she added, and Maureen giggled. "I never want to be like them, so I try to get as far away from them as possible." She blushed suddenly. "Sorry. I don't mean to tell you my whole sob story."

"Nah, nah! I think it's pretty damn interesting," Maureen said, and even she could hear the ring of truth in her voice. "I mean, yeah, my parents would try and bring me down, but I did all I could to try and not be them." She looked in her drink. "I hate 'em. Dad left when I was young, and my mom was a real bitch."

"Your dad left?" Alison said, looking at Maureen with a concerned face. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be!" Maureen said, waving a hand to signal that it was okay. "Yeah, he left. I got a stepdad, but damn if that did anything. I mean, he just got slapped around when my mom got drunk."

"Your mom slapped your stepdad around?"

"Yup! Strange, huh?" Maureen said with a wink. "Turns out that's why my dad left! He was so fucking sick and tired of my mom. It wasn't 'cause he didn't love me; I found him later after I ran away from home, and lived with him ever since. He's a really cool guy," she said after a small pause, smiling to herself and drinking from her glass.

"Wow," Alison murmured. "Never heard a story like that!"

"I'm special," Maureen quipped, laughing. "But I need to get my own apartment soon. I mean, I don't want to live off my dad forever," she added, looking into the dark of her drink. "I don't want to mooch off him forever."

"You know, I think we could help each other out," Alison mused aloud, and Maureen looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Help each other out?" she repeated, blinking. "How would we do that, A?"

"Well, you want to get out of the house so you wouldn't have to burden your father anymore, right?" Maureen nodded, and Alison continued, a slow smile spreading on her face. "And I want to get away from my snobby rich family. We should get an apartment together!" she squealed over the D.J., and Maureen gasped.

"Really?" she said in a high pitched squeal that rivaled Alison's, and the blond girl nodded.

"Yeah! I could get the money, and then we could get away from everything and do our own thing!" It was a good thing Maureen didn't have her drink in hand at the moment, or else she would have slipped it all over Alison when she gave her a huge hug.

"God, that would fucking rock all!" she said, almost crying. "I mean, I would help; I want to be a performer, so I could go everywhere and try to get a job—"

"We can worry about all those things when we actually do it," Alison interrupted, laughing. "For now, tell her dad, and I'll somehow convince my parents I need an apartment like that." She rolled her eyes. "As long as I make up some excuse about how it'll get us more money, I'm sure they'll buy it."

"And to think, all this started by ballet!" Maureen said, laughing as well. She paused. "Hey, A..."

"Yeah, Maureen?" Alison asked, curious.

"Why do all of this?" she said, a serious look on her face. "I mean...we just met a couple of minutes ago. I could be a fucking serial killer for all you know. Why do all of this when you don't even really know me?" Maureen paused and flushed red. "Oh, shit, I didn't mean to be rude or anything like that, but I just wanted to know. Trust me, this is the best thing that's ever happened to me in a while!"

Alison laughed. "I guess because I really don't want to go back home...and I really do like you, Maureen. Like, not like-like, but I think you're a really nice person. I think we're gonna get along really well...and, hey, I say first impressions are always the most important," she added, shrugging. "Plus, I think we could survive as roomies, don't you?" They two girls laughed.

"Well, we'll find out, won't we?" Maureen added, and hugged Alison again. "I think this is one of the strangest yet best days of my life," she said, smiling.

"Ah, getting all mushy on me?" Alison joked, obviously as emotionally impacted by the whole situation as Maureen. The future diva laughed, and softly punched Alison's shoulder.

"Well, the night's still young, A, and I think we should spend most of it dancing." She put Alison's drink on the bar, and grabbed her hand, pulling her onto the dance floor.

It was quite a start to an unexpected friendship.

_conscient et humble_

_Time to try to fly._

* * *

Joanne comes next, just 'cause I need to have ALL the character backgrounds in here. Then, whew, we start getting into the big things! Slowly but surely, guys! 


	5. Act I, Scene V

Inspiration hit today in Study Hall! This is Joanne's little snippet. I know she has no real relation to any of the characters yet...but this suddenly formed, and I think it's interesting. So here you go. We won't see Joanne for a long while after this, the chapters after being mostly concerned with how the core group (Benny, Mark, Collins, and Roger) got together, and how Maureen and Alison tie into it. And, of course, there will be some Angel and Mimi. But Joanne's going to be put in the back burner after this, so I had to write something while introductions were still going on. So here you go! I'm a little iffy about how I portrayed Joanne...but it's okay. Anyhoo! Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** C'mon now. You KNOW I don't own them.

* * *

Joanne Jefferson walked around the large building, Diet Coke in hand, bored (and a little lost, though she'd be hesitant to admit it around these people), wonder why she had come.

She was on her way to becoming a lawyer. Like her parents, Joanne had high goals, and was determined to meet those goals. Just a few hours ago, she had completed one of the hardest exams of her life. Why was she here, at this party? The answer was pretty simple. Because she thought someone who liked her invited her to this random house. Turns out they weren't at this party anyway, har-har. Joanne felt a little alone because of it...wait, no, scratch that. She felt _extremely_ alone.

Joanne had always been a bit of a loner. She liked to get the job done and get it done right, and the only way to do it right was to do it yourself. She hated group projects in school, ending up doing a majority of the work if not all of it. She liked people all right, but she didn't always trust them. Despite some of her suspicions of people, Joanne was very warm to her friends. Her roommate, Natasha, said once that Joanne was like a Gobstopper; the more you hung around, the more layers were exposed until you got to the center of her. Joanne laughed hard as Natasha told her this in her thick Russian accent, but always thought of it in the back of her mind, how surprisingly true that was.

The party Joanne was currently attending was not Joanne's idea of fun. Drunk people staggered practically everywhere, and behind each closed door lay a multitude of couples sucking face, clothing strewn in patches amongst the floor. Joanne didn't mind getting drunk every so often, but she despised parties like this. Ugh.

She was about to leave when a strong arm grabbed her shoulder. "Where are you goin'?" a voice slurred, and Joanne snapped her head around to look behind her.

"I'm go—oh! Ralph!" she exclaimed, calming down a little. "I was beginning to wonder if you were going to show." Joanne blushed a little. It was not often she found herself falling for a guy, but it happened.

Ralph was Joanne's first friend in law school. They had both been lost, and he smiled and asked her to coffee. She said yes; after all, she could always tell him if he asked, "Sorry, but I'm more attracted to girls, hope you understand." He seemed like a nice guy, though, and Joanne felt no need to express her sexuality immediately. In fact, she never liked to. Joanne wasn't the kind of person to go up to someone and tell them, "Hello, my name's Joanne, yes, I am black, and yes, I'm also bisexual with lesbian tendencies, how do you do?" If the person stayed around long enough, they would find out all they needed to know.

And Ralph, well, he stayed around. He was sweet and funny, always some sort of comment popping out of his mouth. Joanne enjoyed his company, and he soon grew on her. It hit her that she had never told him about which way she really swung, and then it also occurred to Joanne that she might not want to mention it to him.

But as she took a closer look, Joanne frowned. "You're been drinking. You're smashed," she said with disgust.

"Well, yeah, that's what I came here to do," he muttered, throwing his arms up, the nice side of him lost to the alcohol. "I've been looking for you all night!"

"Well, I'm going," she said, angry and disappointed. He didn't bring her here to enjoy her company, that was for sure. Perhaps he even planned to get her behind a closed door. Who knows? But Joanne wasn't going to stick around to find out.

"No!" Ralph yelled, grabbing Joanne's arm, ripping the shoulder of her shirt.

"Let go of me, Ralph," Joanne growled. It took a lot to get her angry, but when she did get to that point, she exploded.

"Shhh," he said, putting a wobbling finger to his lips. "Just come with me, baby," he slurred, "and let me show you around." For a second, she paused, then snatched her arm away from Ralph's grasp, his fingers slipping on the silk blouse she wore. He regained a grip on the cloth, but not her arm, ripping the sleeve from her shirt. As Joanne swiftly ran from the drunken Ralph, she could hear him yell her bame, cursing at her, screaming into the night.

Joanne stopped at a playground that wasn't too far from the party house...but far enough that Ralph wouldn't chase her. She sat down on a swing, and started to cry. Joanne, even when she was a little girl, never sobbed out loud. Later, though, she would find herself sobbing constantly at the death of an angel, but for now, all she did was sniffle and let the salty tears drip down her cheeks. _Goddammit, Joanne, goddammit. How stupid could you be, doing that? Ralph was a stupid bitch, you knew it all along. How could you crush on him like that?_

"You okay?" a soft voice said behind her. Joanne whipped her head up to see a girl, just around her age, swinging upside down from the monkey bars.

"Yeah, I'm okay," Joanne replied, a little surprised at seeing someone her age playing on a playground as if they were in first grade again.

"You're crying," the stranger said, her shoulder-length hair bouncing wildly as she jumped from the bars. The future lawyer could see the true shade of the girl's hair as she walked to the swing beside her, the moonlight bouncing off it—strawberry blond.

"Yeah. Guys are assholes," Joanne remarked, laughing as the words came out of her mouth. "Never though I'd be saying that."

The girl smiled. "Your door swings the other way, huh?"

Joanne debated on not telling her, but instead just getting up and walking away... "Well, I can swing both ways, but yeah, I like girls better." The female's gray eyes twinkled.

"Whatever floats your boat, you know? Me, well, I'm bisexual too. Best of both worlds, you know?" she added, winking, and Joanne chuckled.

"Yeah." Pause. "Why are you here so late?" she asked her new companion.

"Had an urge to relive my childhood," the female answered, giving Joanne a beautiful smile. "After all, once I get up there in years, I won't be able to do this anymore! Gotta live life while you can, baby!" she shouted, swinging slightly and laughing. "Can't let life pass you by!"

Even though it was a very naive sense of the world, Joanne couldn't help but notice the ring of truth around the words. "Too bad we get old so fast," she found herself saying, and the girl wagged her finger, tsking Joanne.

"You only get old fast if you let yourself get old fast." The redhead looked to the moon, and for a slight moment Joanne saw a sadness in her eyes. "Of course, the good die young, right?" This was a moment both would look back on later; Joanne would repeat this line over and over again in her head when her one of her closest friends would die. The girl next to her would think of this in her last moments, writing it on a little note for her best friend and saying it out loud in the bathroom before she died. _The good die young...right?_

"What happened to your arm?" the girl asked, pointing to Joanne's missing sleeve.

"Ah, some drunken ass tried to drag me somewhere I didn't want to go," she said, and laughed. "It was really scary when it happened, but now...now, it's kinda funny."

They both laughed. "Well, hey, it's better to laugh at life sometimes. Keeps it from bringin' ya down." She swung a little, and then got up from the seat. "I better get going. I kinda left the boy I was with...he might start to worry." She winked. "He's my black-haired, blue-eyed baby. He doesn't like me to wonder far. He knows I'm a wild child in secret." She shook her head, the mane of hair swaying and sweeping in the night sky, moonlight illuminating off every strand. Joanne would remember it as one of the most beautiful things she would ever see.

"Thanks," Joanne said, getting up. "You know," she added, a bit of hesitation in her voice, "you've helped me a lot. I mean...I could have gotten pretty shook up over that whole thing. But talking with you—"

"Sometimes we just need someone there to talk to," the redhead said, grinning.

"My name's Joanne," she blurted, the idea of walking off without knowing the girl's name suddenly disturbing.

The female caught Joanne completely by surprise by reaching over and kissing the mocha-skinned girl on the cheek, a soft, friendly kiss that was a kind of goodbye, in a sense. "I'm April." She patted Joanne's cheeks, and started to walk away.

"I—" Joanne started to say, and then paused as April turned around. She grinned. "I'll be seeing you."

April grinned. "Same crazy time, same crazy place," she replied, winking, and walking off into the darkness. Joanne would never see April again until that one day when Mark would show her a picture on Roger's nightstand, and she would remember the sweet girl on the swings, not fully believing Mark when he told her what happened to her. She couldn't believe it.

For now, though, Joanne walked back to her dorm. Natasha asked her in a worried voice what has happened to her, why was her sleeve like that, what went down at the party, and Joanne just hugged her. "You know, I really have no idea." And she went to bed.

Same crazy time, same crazy place. It was a meeting of chance, a simple twist of fate, two paths just happening to intersect.

_confusion et belle_.

_It's time to start this dance._

* * *

And now we start getting into the good stuff. Hopefully, it'll go faster from here! 


	6. Act II, Scene I

Alright, let's get this ball a-rollin'. I've been actually very into writing _Bohemia_ lately, so hopefully some good will come out of it. Basically, the chapters are going to pretty much flow like before (Mark and Benny, Collins and Roger, Angel and Mimi, Maureen and Alison)until the characters start to mingle. Joanne isn't going to show up for a while, and neither is April...at least until everyone gets to know each other.

So, with that said, let's go on to Mark and Benny, shall we? Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** Alright, this will be the disclaimer for this chapter and any chapters after it. Jonathan Larson owns these babies, not me. I just merely create the situations and write them down.

One Minor Note: I know I mentioned Mark's camera before in Chapter One. Forget that. I have corrected it; we find out how Mark gets his camera in this chapter. He doesn't have it before this. Just so we're clear, and everyone knows.

* * *

Mark slammed his suitcase shut. He looked around the small accommodations and announced, "Well, I'm going," to the empty room. Sophomore year in college, and he was abandoning it all for his dream.Benny was gone; he had to say goodbye to a few people first.

He knew his parents would be furious. His father would say that it was doomed to happen; he could see it in Mark as a child, the ability to go nowhere. His mother would sob and shake her head, wondering who got a hold of her son, who changed her baby?

Later on, they would blame it mostly on Roger, but really it was Benny that started the ball rolling. Actually, Mark would think to himself how similar Benny and Roger really were, even though both of them would deny it straight up and down. Rooming with Benny help prepare him for Roger...in a few ways. But Mark was far from that point now. He was still so naive, still a child. He had always thought about leaving Brown, even when he first got there.

"Here," Benny said their first Christmas, tossing Mark a box. "Merry Christmas, Cohen."

Mark flushed. "Benny, you know I don't—"

"Celebrate Christmas? Well, yeah, I know." The older of the pair rolled his eyes. "Happy Hanukkah, whatever. Just take the damn present, boy!" Benny slapped Mark on the back and grinned.

The wrapping paper was still mostly on the package, so Mark gently tore open a section. "A...a camera?"

"Yeah, a camera! You really want to be a film maker, doncha? Here's your chance, Mark." Benny motioned to the camera. "Film."

Mark flushed and stuttered. "B-but, this is—"

"From my girlfriend, and I don't need a camera anyway," Benny finished, patting the cell phone his mother gave him. "If it were me, I'd probably put it in the back of the closet and it'd never be seen again. But you'd take it out, you'd put it to good use!"

"Thanks," Mark said, and smiled at his roommate. Benny couldn't help but beaming back. It was the first real smile he'd ever seen on Mark's face, and was happy he could make someone happy on Christmas...even if Mark _was_ Jewish.

Benny winked. "So open it up. There are some batteries somewhere, if you need them...I think...maybe...okay, so we might have to go buy some if needed..." And thus began Mark Cohen's love affair with his camera.

Although it wasn't always attached to his side like it would be later on in his life, Mark often had it stashed in his bag, just in case something had to be captured. Mark had always written screenplays, even as a little child, and thought that maybe, with this camera, he could finally get somewhere in the film business. Mark would never forget that Benny gave him the camera; in fact, you could say Benny started this all, that all the friendships and relationships to come were because of Benny.

The camera was packed safely away in its bag, hanging from Mark's shoulder. His suitcase wasn't too terribly heavy, and he lifted it with no real difficulty. Out the door, time to go, time to start your life.

New York was Mark's idea, really. "I'd want to go there," Mark mused aloud one day, and Benny looked over his English textbook.

"Where?"

"New York."

As Mark let out a little sigh, Benny grinned. "Well, we should go there. Together. In the old days," Benny said, looking back to his text, "they said that New York was where you went to become a somebody." And who doesn't want to be a somebody? New York, the Big Apple, the City of Lights...or, State of Lights, Mark supposed, if you wanted to be that correct about it. Plan was simple. Hop a bus line. Not too terribly expensive, but they could go unnoticed. And if the bus line didn't go all the way to New York, well...they'd figure out something, wouldn't they?

Mark boarded the bus, ticket in hand. He had a lot of money saved up (he had fears of going broke...go figure), and had most of it in his pocket. He waited for Benny to come on, sit beside him, and they could talk about what they were going to do as the bus drove into and out of nights and days.

But Benny never came.

Mark started to panic as the bus started to roll. He pressed his face against the window, searching for Benny's face in the crowd...but it wasn't any use.

Benny never came.

Mark felt like crying as the bus sped onto the road, bumping and lurching its way to the highway that would take him to his destination. He shook his head. Dammit. Dammit, what had happened? Benny told him this morning that everything would be okay, that he'd get here on time! What had happened? ...What went wrong? Mark's eyes widened. Oh jesus. Maybe something happened to him! Mark started to search through his bag frantically, trying to find Benny's cell phone number...he had given it to Mark that very Christmas day, saying if they ever needed to get in touch...

And then the note slipped out.

Mark looked at the pure white envelope, sleek and thin. His heart was beating fast, but it seemed to slow down. What...what was this? He opened it, took out the note, and started to read.

"_Mark._

_By the time you read this, you're probably wondering, 'Where the hell is Benny?' Well, I know how you worry, Mark. I'm okay, don't worry, I'm fine, I'm not at the hospital or anything._

_I'm not coming to New York._

_Just...hold on. Look, I'm nearing the end of senior year. End of graduating college. Maybe you could afford to skip out on your parents, but I can't. Remember how I told you I worked hard to get into this school? I did, and I can't just waste those four years of my life when graduation is so soon. I...I want to get somewhere in this life, Mark. I need to. I have high goals, and to meet them, I have to do this, I have to stay._

_Look, Mark, it's not you. You're a pretty fucking awesome kid, when you stop being nervous and start being yourself. You and I, we were pretty good friends there. I hope we still are, but...well, if you hated me for doing this, I wouldn't blame you either. I just wanted you to know why I'm not on that bus with you._

_Don't freak. In the envelope, there's more money for you. I know you have some...and what I gave you is half my share. It's still a pretty good amount, should be able to help you. I'm planning on coming once everything is said and done over here in Rhode Island. But until that time, well...you're on your own, Mark._

_Look, I was at NY once. I know some places that should be open to people like you. I've listed the addresses below...and my cousin's apartment. You show him this note, and he should let you in, no problem. Well, I don't know if he's still living there (said he was going to give it to a good friend of his), but the offer should still apply. My cell phone number's also there. I know you too well, Mark; I figured you probably lost it and started to panic trying to find it. But...call me when you get to New York. Don't...don't call me unless you're there. I mean, I would say call me if you need help, but I couldn't really help, could I? Just keep this letter. It should help you find some place._

_...Mark, I'm sorry. You're one of the best friends I've had in my life, and that's saying something. You're a good guy inside, even if you are a little naive. Just protect yourself, Mark. Don't get into much trouble. And film some shit, man! I want to see some home movies when I get my ass to NY, you hear me?_

_I'll see you around, Mark. Keep your head up._

_-Benny._"

Mark sighed, and read the letter over three times more before looking out the window. Well, at least he didn't have to worry about Benny. The blond peeked into the envelope, and practically squeaked. There must have been three hundred dollars in there! He shuffled through the bills, feeling guilty. He was determined to pay Benny back. But for now...for now, he'd just do what he could to survive.

Five addresses were listed on the letter, and then a single phone number—Benny's. Mark took in a deep inhale, and let out a loud sigh.

Well, here's to nothing. Mark took out his camera, and turned it on.

"It's...October 17th, eight p.m, Eastern Standard time. Mark Cohen begins his journey into the unknown, the poor naive boy not really knowing what lay ahead of him—"

"Could you please shut up?" a woman snapped behind him, and he peeked inbetween the cracks, his blue eyes shining.

"Sorry, ma'am." The woman made a little noise, then snuggled into the seat and closed her eyes again. Mark looked back to the camera and whispered, "It's going to be one fucking hell of a wild ride." He paused. "Let's see what happens."

Click.

* * *

Next Up: Somethin' is going down at the loft. We get to meet Roger's bandmates, and of course, more Roger and Collins goodness.

(And I know people read this. In fact, lots of people have tuned into this tiny ficlet. I don't bite! Reviews are wonderful things, dears! I want to hear your opinions! And I'll answer any questions, so don't hesitate to speak up if something is confusing...or I need correcting on something. Ahem. Anyhoo. Much love, poppets!)


End file.
